How Far We've Come
by Ranimara
Summary: Everything changes. [A series of one-shots for Sheith New Year Week 2019.]
1. Day 1 - New Years

**A/N:** This is a series of one-shots written for Sheith New Year week on tumblr. Most of these are post-season 8, but are not epilogue compliant. Most are fluffy, but there's a bit of angst in there too, with warnings for mentions of past child abuse.

 **Day 1 - New Year  
** _Keith and Shiro share a quiet moment._

* * *

"Hey." It was a soft voice that called out to Shiro, lounging comfortably back, trying to draw him gently from a doze. Shiro blinked blearily as he lifted his head slightly, struggling to comprehend that splotch of black hair and pale skin in front of him. The image slowly grew a little firmer around the edges, Keith's soft smile coming into focus.

"Keith," he breathed out, voice raspy from sleep. Shiro tried and failed to hold back the jaw-splitting yawn as he slowly shoved himself up on one elbow. He was sprawled out on the couch in one of the smaller lounges of the Atlas, Keith sitting at the opposite end, perched easily on the arm of couch.

Sleep. The couch. Realization jolted through him and Shiro pushed himself upright, eyes darting to the holo screen that gently lit up the opposite wall, the audio muted. It was a feed from Earth, the ruins of New York City's Times Square lit up and festive, bedecked with streamers, confetti fluttering down through the air, people huddled together, cheering and drinking and dancing. The camera focused in on a group of four on a stage, dancing animatedly to a beat they couldn't hear. Despite the invasion, the war, the near destruction of the entire planet, the streets thrived, ready to put the horrors of the past few years behind them.

"You've got an hour." Keith's reminder - the glowing digits in the corner of the screen confirming that fact - calmed the Captain. He let out a breath, tension easing from his limbs as he slumped back on the couch, smile tired even as he absently draped his hover arm over the back of the couch. It was a strange sensation without the pull of muscle on his shoulder.

"Does this mean you're ditching the party?" Keith asked even as he took the unspoken invitation, sliding from the arm of the couch to sit properly, sinking back and within easy reach of Shiro. It wasn't the most comfortable couch on the Atlas, but he couldn't complain about the company, at least.

"I'll make an appearance," Shiro promised, dragging his flesh and blood hand down his face, the scar stretching down over his nose, as if the man could draw the weariness right out of him. His prosthetic hand waved idly back and forth, ruffling Keith's hair absently. "Eventually."

Keith's leg fidgeted a little, the paladin seated on the very edge of that seat, hands clasped tightly together between his knees. Shiro only sat there, head tipped back, eyes drifting shut again.

It might have been on the cusp of a holiday back on Earth - people quitting work early if they hadn't taken the day entirely, to spend the end of 2071 with friends and family. But out here, working with the Coalition to restore peace and provide aid to a universe that was still fractured even after the end of the war, it had been another long day. Hours of arguing with diplomats that represented a dozen different peoples and civilizations within this sector alone, while the Paladins handled the rumors of former Galra soldiers turned space pirates, that wanted no part in the reformation plans for the Galra Empire.

A long day, and yet human and alien members of the crew alike had come together to celebrate a deck down. A New Year's that Keith would never have thought twice about in the past.

It was a New Year's different from every other in Keith's memory. When was the last time he had even bothered with New Year's. After all, what was so exciting about the passage of time, the turn of one year to another, when your life was empty and cold? Why bother joining the festivities as people eagerly counted down to that final stroke of midnight, when the next year would be just as pointless as the last?

Head bowed, dark hair falling over his eyes, Keith peered at Shiro as weariness washed over the man. Keith felt the same bone-deep exhaustion that pulled him ever towards bed, to sleep the night away and start anew the next morning with another mission on the docket.

And yet sitting here now, watching as Shiro's tired gaze fell on him, a lazy, curious smile on the other man's lips, it wasn't with apathy that Keith was watching the oncoming new year.

Seeing the end of every universe, and saving every universe tended to bring about a new perspective on the value of a year. That heart ache at losing a loved one, ripped away from their lives far too soon. Keith had shed tears for Allura, alone in the quiet of his room where nobody could see. He watched as Lance met every day with too big of a smile, talking just a little too loudly, working hard to convince himself and everyone around him that he was okay. But Keith had glimpsed his right hand man alone in a corridor when he thought nobody was there to watch the somber silence settle over him, as the fake laughter faded away.

There hadn't been enough time.

Marred by loss, the grief of the past year would be one they carried with them forever. But Keith watched the oncoming year with a growing anticipation - a hope that Allura had gifted them all with.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Keith even had a New Year's Resolution in mind - one saved for the very stroke of midnight. He'd never been one to beat around the bush and push something off. Even as his fingers threaded together in agitation, foot tapping anxiously.

Shiro's hover arm slid over just enough to catch Keith's shoulder and tug him in for a one-armed hold, the younger man's face growing red. "Relax." Shiro's voice was calming, even as the man's gaze drifted back towards the holovid. "Just a few more minutes," he managed, half the words swallowed in a yawn. "Then the party, before they come looking for us."

Keith snorted softly, taking Shiro's advice and relaxing. His fingers unthreaded, resting loosely on his lap as he sat back on the couch, no more perched and poised, as if ready to run. His head tipped back against the back of the couch. Shiro's hand never did leave his shoulder. As the tension flowed from him, exhaustion swept in to take its place, eyelids drooping.

* * *

Shiro grunted softly, shifting his head up and off of his arm that he'd tucked it up against. Eyelids refused to open for a moment, the man fighting that grimy, sticky feeling as he wrinkled his nose. His hip slid down slightly, back curved a touch and he wasn't sure when he'd slumped down on the couch, legs sprawled out over the floor. Somehow Keith had ended up tucked in next to him, legs drawn up, head drooping against Shiro's shoulder; the glowing one, with the hard metal edges and the recessed surface. It couldn't have been comfortable.

The man's eyes drifted lazily towards the tv where silent images of people jumping together, hugging, dancing on the streets as fireworks filled the dark skies up above. A simple and pure joy at their tiny planet still existing in this vast cosmos. At having made it another year. To still-

Oh. 12:43 AM. The numbers blinked tauntingly in the bottom corner of the screen.

From somewhere down below, muffled through the layers upon layers of metal, he thought he could hear rowdy singing.

Shiro groaned quietly as he slumped back, eyes sliding shut again. Next to him, practically on top of him, Keith was stirring.

"Wha-? Did we...?" His voice, rough with sleep, trailed off, Keith undoubtedly coming to the same realization Shiro had. 2071 had passed, and they were now 43...44 minutes into 2072. There was shifting against him, Shiro grunting as an elbow landed in his side, followed by a muffled 'sorry'.

"Didn't mean to fall asleep," Keith uttered from next to him, sluggishly pushing himself up. Shiro took the opportunity to slide his legs up onto the couch, unabashedly taking over the entire thing, squeezing them in behind Keith.

"Keith, go back to sleep," he murmured sleepily, already rolling onto his side, pressing his nose into his arm.

"But I wanted-"

Shiro's arm drifted over, tugging on Keith's shoulder, drawing him back as the young man hovered on the edge of the couch again, still half asleep.

"I know."

"Wanted to tell you that I-"

Shiro's arm crushed the younger man to his chest, nose pressing into dark hair. "I know," he mumbled out again. Keith's breath evened out, eyes drifting shut. "Love you too."

Keith's smile was quiet, his own face pressing into the warm arm that slipped out to cradle him close. "I love you," he whispered back, slipping back towards sleep.

"Now sleep," Shiro said again, already drifting off himself. "Figure out the rest in the morning."

They had the entire year ahead.


	2. Day 2 - Vacation

**Day 2 - Vacation  
** _The door always closed._

* * *

Twenty-three and Keith was frozen in place as that door swung slowly shut before him. It swallowed the image of a tall man with a head of white hair, a travel bag slung over a broad shoulder.

* * *

On another warm summer afternoon, a small boy stood frozen as another door swung shut with a note of finality, leaving only coldness in its wake. A list of hasty instructions, scribbled thoughtlessly on a scrap of notebook paper was clutched in his hand. Just simple, everyday household things really. Take out the trash. Clean and vacuum. Wipe down the table and countertops. Go to school. Home by 6. Do your homework. Bring in the mail. Trash pickup is on Tuesday. Peanut butter was in the cupboard, and a week's worth of frozen dinners was in the freezer.

That list of chores, of important reminders, a couple of numbers in case of emergency had been thrust into the hands of a seven year old, silent and sullen after the death of his father the year before. But he'd been the oldest of the four foster kids in that house, and thus the responsibility was placed upon his small shoulders.

Only seven years old, and the small boy clutched that torn scrap of paper tightly in his hand, watching as the front door swung firmly shut, catching with a click. He could still hear the rattling of a loose wheel as his foster parents rolled their luggage down the uneven stones of the front walkway, towards their beat up old Ford.

"We'll just be gone four days, Keith. Look after the others, okay? And do everything on that list. We don't want to come back to a dirty house." Those had been Mrs. Wagner's last words to him as they left on their long weekend getaway, the door shutting with a note of finality.

Maybe he should have been proud that an adult trusted him enough to let him stay home alone for so long. But a cold feeling settled in his chest and Keith turned his back on that door.

Two days later, an exhausted woman with frizzy hair from child services came by and retrieved the kids. Mr. and Mrs. Wagner came home to an empty house and angry voicemails.

* * *

Twenty-three now, and Keith started from his memory as the door pulled back open. That coldness had long since dissipated, making room for a warmth he had once thought he'd never find. Shiro peered back at him as he leaned against the doorframe, eyes crinkling slightly, a half smile adorning his lips. "You coming?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking." Thinking. Remembering. Memories that no longer stung as they once had, a sheepish smile on Keith's face as he bent to grab his own bag, swinging the backpack over his shoulder, one hand wrapped loosely around the strap.

Shiro caught his free hand as he finally made it to the door, fingers twining together easily. "What about?"

"About how lucky I am." Keith grinned, and Shiro hummed as the younger man tugged him in close for a chaste kiss. His lips were still warm as they parted a moment later.

Tossing an arm over Keith's shoulder, Shiro laughed, lips quirking. "Extremely lucky. You have no idea how many strings I had to pull to make sure we both got leave at the same time."

Keith paused only to push the door shut behind them.


	3. Day 3 - Family

**Day 3 - Family**  
 _Shiro always had a family._

* * *

For Shiro, holidays had always been a time to spend with family. Memories had grown faded and frayed around the edges with every passing year. The exact colors had grown muted, faces just a little fuzzy, but he could still recall those days of walking through Christmas markets, clutching his mother's skirt, or eagerly helping her write out the dozens of New Years cards they'd be sending out to friends and families. Every New Years he'd travel with parents and grandparents to the local shrine to pray for good fortune in the new year.

But good fortune was not always found. There had been no fortune when a truck slammed into his parents car, sending them careening off the road. There had been no fortune when his father was declared dead on sight, while his mother was rushed to the hospital. She had faded before she ever made it to surgery.

It was his grandparents that a 6-year old Shiro continued writing those New Years cards with. He'd sit at a small table, legs dangling from a chair that was too big for him, his grandmother's warm smile filling his heart just as her famous strawberry cake filled his belly.

When he was recruited to the Garrison, he still sent out those cards, video called his grandparents every day throughout the holiday season. Every trip back home, the weeks off between Christmas the New Year, were always a treat. Shiro would step off that plane, and practically right into his grandmother's arms, protesting the way she immediately began fussing over him. He secretly loved every moment of it though. And his his grandfather led them both out to the car, a quiet smile on the old man's face.

Then for one lonely year, he was terribly adrift, his grandparents finally passing. Three months after he returned from his first trip to space, Shiro spent the holidays alone.

But family was never far. Family was friends and co-workers and Shiro smiling easily as he took over the tradition of sending out those New Years cards, addresses having long shifted from Japan to Arizona addresses. Most never even left the Garrison base, and Shiro was thrilled for the opportunity to hand deliver them.

Then there was Adam, and for a few blissful years, Shiro had found another family that welcomed him with open arms.

Until Adam had drawn a line that Shiro had no choice but to cross. He could never have asked Adam to follow. Something had splintered, and

Years later, another New Years card was left quietly on the man's grave - all the things Shiro wished he'd had the chance to say before the end. Their relationship might have ended badly, an ending that he now knew to have been inevitable with or without Kerberos. But Adam had been an important part of his life, and would have remained important even after their love had faded. Shiro watched the card flutter in the wind, only a small stone saving it from being carried off into the ether. He bowed his head, eyes closed a moment, giving remembrance to a man who had given him so much.

Keith hovered a few paces behind, hands clasped quietly in front of him, giving Shiro this moment.

When Shiro turned back towards him, it was with a shadow in his eyes, an old weariness pressing down over his shoulders. Keith didn't say a word. He merely reached out, the ring on his finger glinting as wrapped his fingers lightly around Shiro's hand. The tension eased from the older man's broad shoulders, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

"Come on, don't want to keep your mom waiting."

Keith's laugh was soft, understated, the young man leaning in to bump Shiro's shoulder with his own, fingers twined together. "She's not going to eat those cookies."

Shiro pouted, mind flickering back to the seran-wrapped plate of christmas-tree shaped cookies, absolutely drenched in green icing to drown out the burnt taste. It hadn't really worked. But nothing had put him off of his baking attempts yet. "More for us then." Keith couldn't bite back his grimace. But he would eat each and every cookie Shiro placed in front of him, because it was Shiro.

Fingers tangled together, they went home.


	4. Day 4 - Kosmo

**Day 4 - Kosmo  
** _A boy and his cosmic wolf and a snowy morning._ **  
**

* * *

One moment he'd been standing in the bathroom, staring dully at his reflection in the mirror as he combed his fingers through his hair and the next he was standing, disoriented, in the middle of a mound of snow, soaking his boots and pants up to his calf. Keith bit back a swear, stumbling back, white stuff flying everywhere.

"Kosmo!"

The name had caught on at some point. He wasn't sure when.

Right there, in the middle of the Garrison's Arizona base, one cosmic wolf bounded excitedly around him. He kicked up snow in his wake, paws digging in, bursting out, an eager playfulness that Keith hadn't seen since Kosmo was just a pup. Whatever annoyance he'd felt fled, a grudging smile taking its place as that simple realization kicked in. As far as Keith knew - and he was fairly certain he'd known Kosmo just about all of the wolf's life - it was his first snow. Two years in the Quantum Abyss, adventures on strange planets, on enemy ships, and a simple Earth snowfall was the animal's greatest discovery.

The sharp chill of an Arizona winter stung at his nose, Keith's cheeks flushing red. But Keith set the discomfort aside, the cold muted beneath the rush of adrenaline as he grinned, stooping to pack together a snowball. Kosmo stilled in the snow, tipping his head curiously, white dusting his fur as the wolf tried to puzzle out what his partner was up to.

It didn't take him long to figure it out. The wolf perked up, eyes intently following the path of Keith's hand as he waved the snowball lightly in front of Kosmo, back and forth, backing away slowly. He pulled his arm back and sent the snowball flying right over the wolf's head. Kosmo spun right after it, vanishing in a brilliant burst.

"I just can't get one past you, can I." His tone was warm, the young man already reaching for another to pack together with his bare hands. Kosmo was covered in snow, licking his chops happily, the snowball absolutely demolished in that midair teleport catch.

Keith's laughter filled the courtyard, other people beginning to filter out of the barracks for work or to enjoy their free time. The paladin took no notice of them, pausing only to rub his hands rapidly together, trying to infuse warmth back into them. It had always taken a bit longer for the cold to hit him, something he now knew was likely a Galra trait. It was only after the fourth fifth snowball and one excited wolf diving into a large snowdrift, sending it bursting out all over Keith (Kosmo definitely knew what he was doing), when he started considering heading back in.

Half Galra or not, he couldn't stay out here forever with only his Garrison uniform on. He was just grateful Kosmo had waited until he had his boots on to teleport the two of them out here for the day. His bare hands were already chilled and red from the snow.

Fate chose that moment to drop a warm jacket over his shoulders. Fate, naturally, came in the form of Shiro, his hair white as the snow around them. It was always Shiro, bringing warmth into Keith's life. Sometimes literally. He gave the older man a sheepish smile, recognizing that gentle admonishment on the man's face as he tugged the jacket on, fingers shaking just a little as he tried to work the zipper.

"Keith, it's freezing out."

"Tell that to Kosmo," he said dryly.

Shiro immediately turned his head to find Kosmo staring expectantly at the pair of them, head tilted upwards, ears perked up. "Kosmo, it's freezing out."

The wolf just tipped his head at Shiro. Keith snorted quietly. But his hands fell away as Shiro's working fingers took over, tugging the jacket closed, zipping it firmly right to Keith's chin. Keith's quiet gaze settled on Shiro, flushing washing over his cheeks that was solely due to the cold of course. Shiro wasn't done yet though. Next he tugged a pair of gloves from his pocket - winter gloves, red, grabbed from Keith's closet just like the jacket. He must have stopped by the younger man's dorm on his way out.

He passed the gloves over, nodding in satisfaction as Keith tugged them firmly on. "Better," the man went on, smile just as warm as his hands as he gently took Keith's in his. The younger man could feel the warm of his prosthetic, always humming with energy, even through the woolen fabric.

Snowflakes began to drift down around them, the two of them caught up in the quiet moment, hands gently clasped. Honest, vibrant smiles that were reserved only for each other in whatever spare moment they could find between their hectic schedules and responsibilities.

The moment shattered in a blur, bright light washing out Shiro's face a moment as tranquility crumpled into surprise. Kosmo had managed to port right back against Shiro's legs, suddenly jolting him out of the way and off his feet. The wolf was gone, and Shiro yelped as he went crashing into the snowdrift, sinking in, hand reflexively tightening against Keith's, dragging the paladin down with him.

He landed with a thump right on Shiro's chest, cheeks red, eyes wide. Gray eyes stared into his own, just as startled, the snow only just beginning to settle around them. It was nothing but pure impulse that had Keith leaning in, pressing an eager kiss to Shiro's lips, his own just slightly chapped. Keith's gloved hand found the man's jaw, cradling gently, as an arm wrapped firmly around him, Shiro pressing back. Together, they chased away the cold.

Until Shiro shoved a handful of snow over the back of Keith's head. The young man jerked back, white fluff caught in his dark hair, eyes startled. Shiro merely grinned up at him, a hastily made snowball, ready to fall apart at a moment's notice, at ready. Keith retaliated, smacking that snowball right out of Shiro's hand, eyes shining with a new challenge as he rolled off of the man and smoothly up to his knees, scrambling for more ammunition.

It wasn't long before snowballs filled the air, along with shrieks and laughter. Kosmo sat perched on a snow-covered picnic table, head settled on his paws, watching the action lazily.

His work here was done.


	5. Day 5 - Free Day

**Day 5 - Free Day  
** _They kept a firm line between their professional and private relationship. Until they couldn't._

* * *

Shiro caught him in the lower passageways of the Atlas, just beyond the orderly sign that pointed the way to the Lion Hangars. Keith stopped as that hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. It was a friendly, familiar gesture; one that had followed him since those early academy days when Shiro had been both a friend and mentor.

"Good job out there. Though it looked like you were cutting it a little close at the end there."

It had been a straightforward, though no less harrowing, mission. Infiltrate the Galra battleship, recover plans for the superweapon that had rumors flying hot all over the galaxy, and above all else, return home in one piece. The mission should have been a simple one. But then again, when was anything they did ever simple in the end? A hidden fail-safe, and one unfortunate Paladin triggering a self-destruct sequence.

Shiro could still feel the ghost of his heart in his throat. The Captain's Console held the evidence of the death grip his artificial fingers had dug into it.

He made a mental note to apologize to maintenance for having to get the dents out. Again.

Keith - because this was _Keith_ \- merely shrugged, his helmet tucked under one arm. "There was enough time. I had Kosmo with me. Besides-" The younger man's hand slipped into the storage compartment at his waist, and pulled out a small black chip. "Whole mission would've been a waste without this."

Shiro huffed out a breath through his nose, lips pressed tight together. He glanced up as a pair of engineers walked down the hall, one with his arms full of a box of supplies. "Captain," one of them said, throwing Shiro a sharp salute. The second man, his arms full, nodded respectfully in his wake. Shiro's own salute was swift and jaunty in return.

His gaze dropped back to Keith as the men passed, giving the paladin a small smile. "Take that to Sam. He's been dying to take a look at those blueprints." Keith nodded, and curled his fingers with care around the chip, hand dropping to his side. Shiro's palm lingered only a few moments longer over Keith's shoulder, before breaking away.

They both had tasks that needed their attention.

* * *

Later, Keith would let himself into Shiro's private quarters, his fingerprints already keyed to the access panel on the wall.

Shiro didn't look up from his position, leaning over his desk, eyes drawn, expression haggard. The man dragged a hand back through his hair as he scrolled down on his tablet, pausing every so often to tap something out. Keith slipped up behind him, silent as a ghost, as he wrapped his arms around the man. One hand slipped easily into the unbuttoned breast of Shiro's jacket.

"You scared me today." Shiro's attention wasn't on the tablet anymore, an open weariness in his voice. One that he no longer had to hide away underneath an air of confidence and responsibility.

"I know," Keith murmured, pressing his cheek into Shiro's hair, wishing he could pour all the warmth he held into the man. Wished he could find a way to lighten his heart. "Never wanted to scare you. But I was too close to scrub the mission." Shiro closed his eyes, and he could feel that small smile growing on Keith's lips. "Besides, you should've seen the look on Pidge's face the instant she saw those schematics. It was Christmas all over again."

Shiro couldn't help the small chuckle, a tired smile blossoming on his lips. "You escaped before they started going on for hours about it. I swear, I could only make out every other word."

All it took was a push off of his feet and Shiro spun his chair around, catching Keith in his arms. He cradled his boyfriend's jaw with a gentle hand, gray eyes studying the man's face, before dropping down to follow the tracing of a callused thumb over his lower lip. Shiro released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and tugged Keith in, their lips just brushing.

"Bed?" Keith breathed out, fingers finding the man's other hand, gently tugging him back.

"Bed," Shiro agreed, letting Keith pull him from that chair.

The rest of his paperwork, his responsibilities, that line of professional separation between Captain and Paladin, could wait until morning.

* * *

It worked for them. They were best friends, comrades, confidants. They were the captain of the Atlas and the leader of Voltron on the bridge, in passageways of the Atlas, or sitting around a table for a debriefing. Their relationship was far from a secret. Even if it had been one, it would have made for a poorly kept secret. The lingering looks, the soft touch to a shoulder, or an easy smile when they caught the other's eye - it all served as a beacon. One that rang out loud and clear long before Shiro and Keith had heard it themselves.

 _"Finally," Lance proclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. That had been that one afternoon he'd caught them leaning close at a table in the mess hall. "You guys have been making googly eyes at each other forever."_

 _"I've been holding Lance back from playing matchmaker with you two," Hunk chimed in, placing a plate of something that looked vaguely squidlike in front of them all. Keith's mouth twisted, nose wrinkling, though whether it was from the idea of Lance as his matchmaker or the weird squid meal, Shiro still wasn't sure._

 _"You're welcome," Hunk supplied helpfully._

Turns out, there had been several betting pools going among the crew of the Atlas as well. All variations of 'will they, won't they' or 'who will confess first' or 'how long will it take for us to catch them making out in one of the many supply closets'.

Nobody ever did find them in a supply closet.

They saved their intimacy for those precious moments they were both off-duty, whether it was in the rec room, passing each other in a corridor or their own private quarters. But when on the clock, they were nothing but professional.

* * *

Strictly professional as Keith stood, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders stiff as he laid out the plan for the Paladins to infiltrate the base where intel told them the Galra weapon prototype was being housed. Shiro stood to the side, overlooking the proceedings, arms crossed over his chest.

Strictly professional as hours passed, Coran's brow wrinkled, worried, as he gave the same answer he'd given for Shiro's last three requests for an update. "Still no word from the Paladins."

Strictly professional, except for a soft touch to the small of Keith's back when he stepped out of Black, blood still dripping from a gash over his eye. His cheek looked puffy, swollen. Shiro caught the man's shoulder, catching him as he faltered and stumbled on that last step.

Strictly professional as Shiro grit his teeth, swallowing back his frustration as he listened to Lance, Pidge, and Hunk frantically retell the events of the failed mission. The disabled lions. Keith's unseen entry with Kosmo. Pidge and Lance following later with the space wolf's help to find Keith on the floor of a science lab, beaten and bleeding and still somehow holding off three Galra soldiers. He'd been as fierce as any wolf, wild and deadly, his sword angled defensively in front of him. Hunk's eyes snapped to Shiro's artificial hand. Shiro started, eyes dropping down to the grip, wrought with tension, he had on the briefing table. One by one, he pulled his fingers away, leaving the warped metal of the table behind.

* * *

That professionalism fractured as he stepped into the infirmary not even an hour later, his heart cracking as he saw Keith lying there. He looked so small and still, breathing labored, bruises blossoming on his swollen face, bandages pristine and white and wrapped clinically around his left arm and shoulder. That thin cotton blanket drawn up his chest covered the more extensive damage the doctors had found upon cutting his armor away .

Keith slept and Shiro ordered Coran to take the bridge, voice too steady, eyes distant. They would call him if needed. For now, the man returned to Keith's side and dragged a chair up by the bed. He sat there, studying Keith's face, stomach twisting in guilt at the swelling over his cheek bones, along his jaw, black and blue bruises risen strong. Butterfly stitches ran up his brow - perhaps another scar to add to a growing collection.

Now, in the quiet of the infirmary, without a thought for the single doctor still on duty, Shiro let his guise as Captain tumble away, until it was only Shiro. He slumped forward in the chair, normally pristine uniform rumpled. The man's hand reached out, unable to resist that inexorable pull, taking Keith's gently in his own. He clasped it reverently between his own, fingers stroking callused fingers and palm, committing each line to memory.

It was unnatural, seeing a man who burned so bright, that fire hot and wild, lying so still. There had been times Shiro had feared Keith would burn himself out completely, but the man had learned to hone that blaze. He'd found a way to direct and focus it.

Now?

Now he looked small and fragile, embers burning low. Shiro pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, leaving a silent prayer behind.

"I should have been there," he whispered to the silence. There was only silence in return.

* * *

Shiro woke up to a hand brushing against his, searching. He groaned softly as his eyes fluttered, struggling to push exhaustion away. There was a crick in his back, the man slumped awkwardly back on the chair. It pinched at his muscles, lips twisting into a grimace as he pushed himself up with care.

All he had to do was lay his eyes on Keith, and the pain fell away. Shiro sat up straighter, hand drawn like a magnet's to Keith. It looks so small, engulfed by his artificial hand.

"You look awful," Keith mused, voice thick with sleep, raspy from disuse.

Every single day, Shiro strove for that firm, commanding presence. But you couldn't command with a rumpled uniform or unbuttoned jacket. Disheveled hair that fell over shadowed eyes only stole from the respect and example he strove to inspire in his crew. And it had been years before he'd let himself go enough for the beginnings of a 5 o'clock shadow to make itself known.

But right now? None of that mattered. Nothing mattered but the wry grin that graced the younger man's lips, quivering and shadowed with pain, but undoubtedly _Keith_. It chased away the horrifying stillness that had left Shiro reeling with fear.

Shiro laughed softly and reached out with one hand, brushing unruly strands of black out of Keith's brilliant eyes. "Welcome back, love."


	6. Day 6 - The Past

**A/N:** This piece takes place between seasons 7 and 8.

 **Day 6 - The Past  
** _Keith chases ghosts._

* * *

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, grip ruthless, claws digging in. One chilling touch and he can feel his heart driving up his throat, Keith choking on the sudden surge of fear. It's nothing but pure instinct as he drops his weight, twisting out of that grip just as he sends an elbow shoving back into a firm chest, sending the figure stumbling back.

"What the _hell_ , dude!" That shrill, winded voice smashed through the haze, that image of violet eyes shattering. Keith jerks up straight, reality coming back into focus. It's Lance. Just Lance. Lance, bracing himself back against the wall, cradling his stomach. The man's mouth twisted into a grimace, his friend and ally glowering at him.

Keith's mouth opened and shut, gaping like a fish, words lodged in his throat. Because Lance was right.

What the hell.

It's a cold splash of reality as he realizes his hand froze, poised halfway to the small of his back, reaching for a blade that never left his side. Keith slowly straightened up, lips pressing together into a grimace, dropping his hand to his side.

He can see Lance's eyes following the gesture, something clicking into place in the other man's gaze.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," Keith ventured, the lie too familiar on his tongue. "You just surprised me." Surprised him. With claws and a metal arm and eyes that burned an unnatural violet. Little by little, he pulled old walls back into place, shuttering himself, hiding away behind frustration and anger. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

Lance rose to the bait and as the pair fell into their familiar bickering, Keith pushed the incident aside.

It was nothing.

* * *

It was nothing at all. Nothing at all as he tugged a bit at the collar of his cadet uniform, trying to get some air flowing. He hated this thing. Hated it back then. Still hated it now. The young man scowled down at his tray of food, pushing a pile of green beans around on the plate. The others sat around him in the mess hall, Allura on his right and Pidge on his left. Pidge had just finished telling them about the alien scanner tech she and Keith had found in the marketplace. Now it was Hunk standing at the head of the table, retelling some old Galaxy Garrison story, thrusting pointedly with a spoon. Keith's eyes drifted up, past Shiro's quiet amusement, Pidge's scoffing and rolling eyes, and Lance's eager additions.

He froze. Keith's breath caught in his throat as a figure turned away, catching barely a glimpse of a profile vanishing through the double doors. Thick plumes of smoke trailed in his wake, the acrid smell of something burning filled Keith's nose. His grip was white-knuckled around his fork.

"Keith." A voice raspy from smoke inhalation.

"Keith." Softer this time, and he jerked back, blinking as he came back to himself. His gaze dropped down to his arm to find Allura's hand touching his arm, before snapping back up to her face. Crystalline eyes were wide with concern, the woman's brow furrowed. Keith yanked his arm away, as if burned.

"Keith, are you okay?"

The table had grown silent, everybody looking towards him. Keith felt himself bristle, pulling back, withdrawing.

"I'm fine. Just tired," he hedged, his stomach roiling after that meager meal of next to nothing. Keith ignored the looks, shoulders square, and stood abruptly, taking his tray with him. "Gonna go crash," he uttered, leaving them no room for objections or concerns. Keith dropped off his tray, that open doorway dragging his eyes over with its gaping emptiness. No smoke. No hauntingly familiar man. There was only the occasional officer or cadet that came in search of food.

Behind him, he could hear Lance begin to tell the others of their run-in earlier. Keith only straightened his shoulders, ignoring the feel of Shiro's eyes on him as he left.

* * *

He was halfway to the dorms when Shiro caught up with him. Keith didn't look up, and Shiro didn't try to stop him with a hand on the shoulder or his arm. The man merely fell into step beside his counterpart. Keith could feel the tension slipping from his shoulders, and he instinctively slowed his pace just a touch.

"Keith, you don't look so good." Shiro's eyes were drawn, sympathetic and Keith let out a breath, slowing to a stop.

"I swear, Shiro, I'm just tired. It's just…been a lot. Being back."

Shiro nodded; he could understand that. They all could. They'd all left behind so much when they left Earth. Keith? Keith had left his ghosts.

The older man hesitated a moment before lifting his hand, the flesh and blood one, pressing the back lightly up against Keith's forehead. "Well, you don't feel warm, at least."

Keith watched him steadily from beneath that hand. Then why did his cheeks feel so warm?

"But I still think you should get checked out at the infirmary." The man's voice was firm, and Keith knew that was less of a suggestion than Shiro had made it sound. But the paladin merely shook his head, turning away from his friend.

"I'm gonna get some sleep. I promise, if I still feel weird in the morning, I'll get checked out." It was a compromise, at least. Shiro didn't look satisfied, but he nodded. His hand drifted up, ruffling Keith's hair playfully.

"Rest up. And call me if you need anything."

He could feel those eyes lingering on him as he turned away, tossing a half-hearted wave to Shiro over his shoulder. Sleep. Just had to sleep, and maybe that would clear away the cobwebs mucking up his head.

* * *

It was a haze he couldn't quite shake. One that lingered and clung, the young man raking fingers through his hair. Next he was dragging them down his face, as if that could somehow draw the exhaustion right out of them. Or, at the very least, this strange heady feeling, as if he was walking through a fog. Every movement was sluggish, and that heat only pressed in.

Keith's fingers fumbled with the laces of his boots, clumsy and uncoordinated, until he was finally yanking them loose. Uniform boots tumbled to the floor a moment later, along with his socks. His cadet jacket and its hideous orange fabric was flung over the back of a chair and he didn't even bother with his pants. Keith just collapsed onto his bed, a plain white t-shirt clinging to his form. His thoughts were a muddled mess, dripping slow and syrupy, beyond mere exhaustion.

Shiro's warm eyes, crinkled at the edges with worry, drifted through his mind. Something within him twisted in regret, Keith's fingers furling into the sheets. Maybe he should have taken the man's offer for an escort to the infirmary. But the thought was a mere wisp of smoke, gone before he could latch onto it, carried off into the fog that settled over him, thick as any blanket. The young man shuddered beneath that suffocating stillness, skin prickling as a chill settled into his bones. He gazed sightlessly at the unadorned wall by his bed. Down in the corner, Cosmo was dozing, curled in on himself.

For all of that sleepless exhaustion, his eyes must have drifted shut at some point, because they were closed and something was tugging at his arm, jostling him from his restless sleep.

"Keith."

Keith wrinkled his nose, turning his face deeper into the mattress.

"Keith, I need to go."

Go. Leaving. Leaving him alone. That chill flooded up his spine, wrapping him in its familiar embrace, and the young man pushed himself up on shaky arms. Keith's mind was still sleep-addled, eyes drifting down to his arm, not comprehending the cold emptiness there where there had just been a warm hand.

Gone. It was a needle through his heart.

"No," he mumbled, stumbling from his bed, the floor cold against his bare feet. A shadow moved past the door, and Keith could taste the ash on his tongue. Keith pulled the door open and tumbled out into a hallway with peeling wallpaper, flower petals faded with age. It was a sight drawn from distant memories of a home in the middle of the desert. And right there, at the end of the hall, a figure in a fireman's uniform just barely turned the corner, his face hazy, out of sight. The same face that stared out from family photos; a man and his boy and an empty space where Keith's mother should have been.

"No." A soft denial. Not this. Not again. He was six-years old, clutching a stuffed hippo to his chest, cursed with a child's small legs that would never overtake his father.

But he tried, just a boy stumbling down the corridor, chasing after his father's ghost. With every step, the hallway fell away behind him, fading into nothingness. Ahead, Shiro turned towards him, smile bright, excitement brimming as he lifted his hand to wave. Behind him the rockets launched and he was ripped away into the quiet solitude of space, taking Keith's breath with him.

* * *

It didn't sit right with him, leaving Keith alone like that. Simply exhaustion, the young man had told him. And if it was only that, then an early night could do him some good. But the explanation felt wrong, though Shiro could not place a finger on exactly why. Those lingering doubts trailed after him, clinging always at the edge of his mind, tugging his attention away from the Atlas damage reports he was supposed to be pouring over.

Shiro scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, a heavy breath escaping as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, the younger man's drawn face swimming into his mind's eye. Had his eyes looked too bright and shiny beneath the artificial lights?

There was no other choice really. He couldn't shake the thought, couldn't shake the concern and Shiro shoved his chair back as he rose to his feet. He paused only to grab his uniform jacket from the back of his chair, before heading out the door. Keith's dorm wasn't far, and Shiro would just check in on him, make sure he was sleeping soundly or otherwise face the younger man's wrath at being coddled.

He'd been prepared for Keith's annoyance, his frustration, the walls that Shiro had managed to pull back little by little over the years. But what he wasn't ready for was that feeling of dread curling suddenly in his stomach. Keith's door was swung wide open, light from the hallway spilling into the small space, cutting a path directly to an empty bed. The blankets were rumpled, but not pulled back. Shiro's hand pressed against the door, processing each piece of evidence that Keith hadn't merely stepped out to use the bathroom.

Boots and socks on the floor, when he knew Keith would never have left barefoot. Jacket pooled on the floor beside his desk chair, when he would have neatly folded it at least. Those few years he'd spent as a cadet at the Garrison had drilled some basic regulation into him, after all.

Kosmo was curled up on the floor in the corner of the room, head tucked into his fur, fast asleep.

Shiro spun around, renewed urgency in his steps as he went looking for Keith.

* * *

"Come on, Keith. Your mom's waiting."

There should have been something off about that statement, coming from his father's lips. But Keith couldn't focus; couldn't grasp that simple truth that his mother was off-planet, and his father was dead, and the warm sunlight was too comfortable on his skin. There was laughter somewhere in the distance, ringing out clear as a bell, and Keith's heart filled with warmth. He could just make out the shadows of a playground in the distance, standing out against the bright sky. And in front of it all, his father stood there, arms held out, beckoning.

It was a childhood he never got to have. One with the promise of a mother and father together, to love and cherish him and hold him.

And beyond that childhood, he glimpsed another man standing tall, silhouetted against the setting sun. Waiting.

They were all waiting.

Keith pushed himself onward, walking barefoot out of the base's front gate, the soldier on duty too busy chatting up a friend to give him more than a cursory glance beneath the starlit sky. They had never been concerned with people leaving the base, after all.

The road curved eastward, but Keith only kept walking straight, until concrete fell away to rough stone and dirt. For so many years, he'd had nothing but the stars to watch over him as he wandered, lost. They watched him again now, silent and cold, as he drifted out into the desert.

* * *

It hadn't taken Shiro long to recruit the other Paladins and Coran into their search. And though Lance grumbled out a complaint - "It's _Keith_. He's probably just off brooding somewhere." - none missed the worry in the young man's eyes, all their thoughts turned towards their missing friend. They quickly split up search of the base between them, Shiro assigning everybody an area - divide and conquer, so to speak.

And of course Keith had to go missing on a night when the Garrison base was so quiet. Several open-air bars had popped up in the tent city and markets that were bringing life back to the ruined city, and promise of alcohol and good company was more than enough to draw out off-duty soldiers.

It was Coran who brought Shiro their first solid lead. His voice burst up through the communicator Shiro had insisted they all carry, frantic.

"Shiro, he's not on the base. It took a fair bit of cajoling to refresh his memory, but a guard at the gate says he saw Keith heading out about 20 doboshes ago."

Nearly half an hour. Shiro pushed the panic down, focusing only on the facts.

"Did he stay on the road?" he asked, already expecting the worst. Shiro didn't wait for an answer as he strode out into the open air, heading directly towards the garage. The Lions were at the far end of the base. It would take too long to send the others to them, and Shiro needed to be out there now.

"This fellow really needs to be trained in better attentiveness," Coran pointed out. Shiro resisted the urge to tell the man to get to the point. "He didn't see Keith on the road when he looked back after, so... I'm afraid he's likely in the desert." Coran's words were clipped, tense. Shiro looked out in the cold, seeing the first flakes of a light snowfall drifting down.

"He couldn't have gotten far on foot. Thanks, Coran. Send the others to their lions just in case, but I'm taking a hoverbike out now."

They'd worry about what had happened to Keith later. For now, his top priority was finding the man and bringing him back.

* * *

From a distance, the playground had seemed bright and colorful, his father's arms beckoning him closer. But Keith couldn't shake the chill, the lingering disappointment as he found only coppery rust eating away at a childhood he could barely remember. One that had never been meant for him. His father stood there, face haggard, arms falling away. Keith leapt forward for him, fingers reaching desperately but something snagged at him, dragged him back.

"No! Dad, wait-!"

But the man only turned away, shaking his head. "Sorry kiddo. Just not enough time. I've gotta work." He left footprints of ash in his wake, and hands pulled at Keith, catching his arm, yanking him back.

Gone. He was gone. Voices whispered to him, telling him he was _alone_ , _forgotten_ , _abandoned_. Nobody stepped forward to claim him - no grandparents or aunts or uncles or cousins. That deep, bone-chilling loneliness that drew the heat from his skin, Keith shivering as he yanked himself away from clawing fingers.

He stumbled forward, leaving bloodied footprints from soles scraped raw against the unforgiving stone. But he couldn't stop. Didn't see. Couldn't feel anything but that desperation to finally catch his father. He'd spent far too long chasing his shadow, wishing for the impossible. That he would come back one day, tell everyone it was all a big mistake, collect Keith and take him home.

There was nobody to watch him as one lone man dragged himself forward, fingers grasping blindly for something only he could see. It was a chilling, empty world, with a thin layer of snow trapping his footprints, marred red. A scraggly bush jutted up from the landscape, a scrap of Keith's sleeve fluttering in its grasping branches.

"You should have tried harder."

Keith's eyes shot up, too bright in the darkness, filled with a pain he couldn't hold back any longer. Shiro was there. Shiro stood tall, one hand held out to him. But as Keith reached out, that hand dropped away and Shiro stepped back.

"Why didn't you try harder? I put so much time into you, tried to show you what you could be. But turns out, you were nothing."

Nothing. Useless. A waste of time, of space. Things he'd been told again and again, through words and deeds. But Keith froze, eyes wide and hurting as he shook his head, stepping forward. Not from him. Never from him. Keith lurched forward, unsteady, eyes swimming with moisture as Shiro took another step back, and then another.

* * *

Twin beams of light lit up the desert, snow and dirt kicked up in his wake as Shiro urged the hoverbike onward. Goggles were tugged low over his eyes, his winter jacket zipped up tight. He ignored the bite of chill to his ears, the tip of his nose. He scanned the horizon frantically, searching for any sign of a figure wandering out in the desert in the light December snowfall.

As dangerous as a snowy desert night could be, it was the blanket of white that gave him his first real lead. Shiro pressed down on the brake, slowing his glide over the terrain, headlights washing over a patch of red in the snow. He stiffened his jaw, fingers gripping the handles tightly. Another patch of red, and then another beyond that, bloodied footprints pressed into the snow.

"Keith." A quiet prayer, a promise, as he revved the engine and pushed onward.

He knew the area. How many days and evenings had he spent ripping through the desert? Later, Keith had been right there at his side, keeping pace, until he eventually surpassed him entirely - the pair of them cutting paths through the craggy landscape. The direction those footprints were heading in? Shiro knew what was ahead.

He gunned it, and the glider took off once more.

Only a few minutes more and his lights lit up a figure stumbling forward drunkenly, words shouted into the emptiness beyond. Emptiness. That sheer drop and Shiro's heart was in his throat, blind panic pushing him forward. "Keith!" he shouted over the whir of his engines, but the paladin didn't respond. Didn't look back.

One foot and then another, and he was _right there_ , teetering on the edge.

He couldn't process that grasping hand, the words falling from Keith's lips. Only that he was there and he was about to be gone. There was no time to stop. No time to call for help. Shiro swung threw his weight to the side, sending the wing dragging into the snow and dirt. The bike swung sharply around, metal straining, that sudden drag cutting away at its speed. The bike went tumbling and Shiro pushed his legs down, throwing himself off the bike. He hit the ground rolling, legs scrambling, hands struggling to push himself up.

"Keith!" He ignored the sharp pain in his shoulder, the wrenched muscles as he threw himself forward, willing his hover arm to push past its boundaries, reaching desperately for the one man who had looked out for him above all else.

* * *

The world fell away, the stars standing out harshly, the only witness to Keith's fate. Shiro's eyes flickered with a toxic purple as the man turned away. Just as his father had turned from him. Just as so many adults or children; parental figures, friends, had taken one look at him and saw him as hopeless, dangerous, or broken.

Worthless.

"Shiro, wait, please!"

But the man didn't look back. Didn't look back as his arm started to rust and fall away, crumbling with time and inevitability just as his childhood had. Keith pushed himself forward, reaching desperately, hands grasping for the man. So close, but so far.

"Don't, not again! Don't leave me again!" He couldn't do it. Not again. And he was so close. So close. Keith lept for the man, and suddenly his foot dropped. It dropped just as his stomach plummeted, the ground falling away beneath him. Brilliant stars in every direction, Shiro just a shadow against them, fading away.

But hands pulled at him, wrapped around his arm in a painful grip, wrenching his shoulder as it pulled him back. And even as his legs kicked out over the ledge, another arm followed, wrapping around his chest, pulling him harshly back. "Let go! I have to find him! You can't stop me! Let me go!"

And he was sobbing, shaking, fighting, fingers raking.

Shiro withstood it all, ignoring the bloody scratches Keith's panicked fingers etched into his face as he pulled him around. The boy's eyes were wide, wild with fear and pain. He was shivering violently, kicking, fighting as he shook his head, trying to pull himself away and back towards the cliffside.

"Don't leave me alone-" he gasped out, twisting towards that drop.

"Keith, Keith." He bundled the man up in his arms, crushing him to his chest, the pair of them dropping down to their knees. "You're not alone. You'll never be alone again." Fingers dragged through his hair, pressing the man close and Keith couldn't stop the tears from washing down his face. The struggles died away, and he wasn't scratching or punching or fighting. He only clung to Shiro, arms wrapped around him, hands fisted in the back of the man's jacket.

Shiro shushed him, rocking the man against his chest, hands rubbing warm circles up and down his back. He pulled away only once to struggle out of his own jacket and wrap it around Keith, trying to work some warmth back into him.

Above them, the green lion circled.

* * *

Two days later, Keith was sitting up in bed in the infirmary, staring dubiously at the hospital food on the tray settled over his lap. The jell-o wobbled, the mac & cheese looked mushy, and the pile of greens was the most unappetizing thing he'd ever set his eyes on. And yet his stomach gurgled, and he, reluctantly, stuck a green bean in his mouth.

"I think Hunk is gonna sneak you in something better later," Shiro said, lips quirked as he took a seat in the chair by Keith's bedside. That chair had held a variety of concerned friends, and Krolia would add concerned family to that mix when she arrived tomorrow. But it was Shiro who could make him slowly put his fork down, eyes falling away.

It was all a blur, really. A mess of images and sounds, with only that desperate, lonely ache playing in sharp relief. Pain killers numbed the ache in his feet, still bandaged from his barefoot wanderings out in the desert. He could see the remnants of two scratches running down Shiro's cheek, still healing. He looked away, embarrassed.

Shiro wasn't put off.

He only leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped thoughtfully together. "It was that alien tech you and Pidge picked up in the market a couple days ago. It was coated in some kind of dust that, it turns out, is toxic to Galra." Even half-Galra. Keith glanced over at the man, brow furrowed. "We had to keep you sedated until we were sure it was out of your system."

Keith settled back against the pillows, eyes slipping shut a moment. "I think I was having some kind of nightmare." He'd never wanted Shiro to see him like that.

"Yeah, Kolivan said it acts as a sort of hallucinogen, but it plays on hopes and fears and twists them."

The younger man snorted and picked up his fork again, poking idly at the jell-o. "Great, so I pretty much had a bad trip."

Shiro said nothing for a moment, fingers clasped together. Keith stabbed into the jell-o, eyes darting towards Shiro and then away again. "I don't really remember too much of it, but..." He trailed off with a frustrated sigh, not even sure what he wanted to say.

"I think...it sounded like you were afraid of being alone." Being abandoned. Shiro spoke delicately, eyes steady on Keith's face. "But I meant what I said out there."

Keith's hand shook. "Remind me?"

Shiro didn't need to be told twice. He reached a hand out and settled it over Keith's own, fork and all, stilling that tremble. "You're not alone, Keith. Not anymore and never again."

Keith's eyes slipped shut, tension slipping from his shoulders. He released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

Just like that, Keith could breathe again.


	7. Day 7 - The Future

**Day 7 - The Future  
** _The Quantum Abyss gives Krolia a gift._

* * *

It had been far too short a time where she had been able to cradle Keith in her arms. Just a tiny, precious pink thing who had every chance for a happy life on Earth.

But only if she left. Only if she led the Galra away from Earth and it's blue lion. Only if she gave them no further reason to look into the planet.

She had held him close, kissed his forehead, left her knife behind for him when he was older. And then she had left everything she loved behind so that she could keep them safe.

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever expected to see her dear son again. And yet there he was, a man grown, 20 years behind him. 20 years without his mother in his life, wondering if she had loved him. Wondering if there had been anyone left out there in the world for him.

But the Quantum Abyss gave them that time back. Keith saw through her eyes and understood, those flashes from their shared past. And she saw the same glimpses of her son and everything he had left behind, a lonely life growing up without a mother or father. One full of hardships, and her heart twisted seeing her child adrift without anyone. The Galra might have a love for battle in their veins, but never would they have let a child be left adrift. If the parents weren't available it was the community who would see that kit thrive. Her eyes darkened with anger the first time she'd seen somebody demand they call him 'mother', only for the next glimpse to be of a moment where he stared up at that same woman, clutching a reddening cheek, eyes angry and defiant.

Krolia's blood boiled, every fierce, protective instinct rising up deadly as any blade. Keith had caught the look in her eye, mouth opening in question. But she had merely shaken her head and set back to her task of building up the fire.

One day she would return to Earth and when she did that woman would discover the fierce retribution of a mother's love.

That list of humans she would love to gut only grew with each new vision. Her anger thrived, and her heart broke a little more each time.

The cave they shared was a poor replacement for the home that should have been theirs back on Earth. But still, Krolia sat there, legs crossed as she sharpened her blade. All her attention was on her son though, her eyes gentle as he cuddled up next to the cosmic wolf who they had somehow adopted out here in the far reaches of the universe. His breathing was slow, the young man resting after a hunting trip upon the whale's back.

Another pulse, a bright flash and the present faded away around her. Krolia let her eyes slip shut, mentally strengthening herself for the next glimpse into a life lost.

 _A vast desert stretching out in every direction, with the Black Lion perched up on a bluff. The golden rays of the sunset set the desert on fire and there was Keith, alone, sitting upon the lion's head. So many visions found him alone. A heavy scar cut up his cheek, one that did not exist upon his face now and Krolia realized this was her boy's future. He glanced back over his shoulder, a simple, honest smile blossoming on his lips as he leaned back on one hand. And Shiro was there. The same Shiro she had seen in other visions, but this time white-haired and with a new arm of strange design, taking a seat beside him. Between them, hands settled on the surface of Black, their fingers brushed against each other, something tentative and new as they settled in to watch the setting sun._

The vision faded and another pounding flash of light threw her head-first into the next.

 _Two young men asleep on a couch, a muted screen showcasing a brilliant display of fireworks across from them. Shiro had his arm wrapped around Keith, tugging him close and Keith's head had found its way to Shiro's own shoulder. They slept together, comfortable and safe at each other's side._

Flash.

 _Keith's grin downright wolfish as he tugged Shiro somewhere out of sight on the corridors of what appeared to be a ship. It was a vessel that Krolia would not recognize for many years. And with Shiro's answering smile, eyes bright, her son's hands finding their way to Shiro's hips as they pressed in close, she was grateful for the next flash that would save her from watching that private scene play out._

Flash.

 _The vast cosmos spread out in every direction above them as they sat together on a craggy planet. It was a far clearer view of the stars than they'd ever had on Earth. The cosmic wolf was still there, grown so large and resting behind them, the two men settled comfortably back against soft fur. Keith pressed up against Shiro's side as the larger man's human hand pulled the other in close. Keith had his hand raised, pointing upwards towards the starry ocean above. Shiro sat there, enraptured, his eyes only on Keith._

 _Twin golden bands shone on their fingers, a promise and a vow. Krolia remembered the ring she had found tucked away in a little box back on Earth, hidden at the back of a pantry her love had thought she'd never check._

Krolia opened her eyes to find her son still sleeping there, the wolf small and warm against him. She lifted a hand, wiping the wetness from her cheek, a warmth filling her heart at the simple gift the Quantum Abyss had given her. After all that hardship, all the years of loneliness she would never be able to give him back, she now knew one thing.

He would be happy.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's the entire week! Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed this bit of sheith!


End file.
